


Fool is He That Believes His Own Lies (You always were a Fool)

by Galysh_Sky



Series: The World Ends Tonight: Side Stories [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh_Sky/pseuds/Galysh_Sky
Summary: The Kirkland Siblings at different hours of the day, fighting, healing, lying, and living.





	1. Witching Hour

**Author's Note:**

> T.W.E.T is a parallel story to OSH, featuring the UK siblings and the Commonwealth countries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it is gory enough to require a tag, but just in case, there is some description of dead bodies and a lot of blood.

_I. Witching Hour_

       Arthur Kirkland awoke to the sound of screams for the fourth time in a row and stifled the urge to curse angrily. Instead he slid from his bed, pulled on a dressing gown, and stormed out into the hall. The coldness of the floor was no deterrent to his ire. Halls that had stood empty for years creaked and moaned mournfully with his passage, whispers of long dead ancestors dogged his feet until he snarled at them to ‘ _shut up.’_ The front door had been left carelessly open, scorch marks marring the base. It would have to be repainted again. the boy stepped out onto the front porch, only to withdraw a moment later when his foot touched something sticky. He looked down, but the moonlight only reflected off a dark varnish that appeared to coat the entire porch.

       Grimacing, he stepped forwards again, calling a flame to his hand as he did so. The sight his talent illuminated was not a pretty one. Across the front yard bodies lay splayed in grotesque positions, dangling from the coarse embrace of the trees that shadowed the front walk. The grass swayed in uneven rows, easily reaching his waist where just the previous evening it had been ankle high. The fountain gurgled happily, sending red shoots up into the air. The droplets splattered all about in a near continuous spray. A scream, high pitched in its terror, rose only to cut off abruptly. Arthur groaned, one hand rubbing at his forehead, a habit he had often seen his previous master do. It did nothing to ease his headache.

       “What are you doing up?”

        Arthur jumped so hard, his feet slid out on the wet surface and he flailed ungracefully, landing with a painful thud. When the stars cleared, he looked up and saw only red. Dark red hair, a faced liberally splattered with blood, one green eye, disturbingly blank, the other hidden beneath freshly dyed bandages.

        “What are you looking at?” He snapped and struggled up, with shaking hands he readjusted his robe.

        Alistair blinked at him, a faint furrow to his brows, eventually he shrugged and replied, “you didn’t have to come out. We had it under control.”

        “Obviously not,” Arthur said, “look at the yard. I’m not running a slaughterhouse here.” He received a blank stare in return, not even a flicker of guilt or self-awareness. A drop of blood slid down his forehead, caught itself on thick eyelashes and stayed there. Arthur let out a frustrated sound and turned away, with careful movement he made his way down the steps. he found his preferred brother crouched over one of the bodies, searching it.

      “Do we have an ID?” Arthur asked, he shuffled a foot in the grass and winced when it squelched.

      Dilwyn glanced at him shaking his head with a faint air of displeasure, “no luck so far, I’ll run them through the system later.”

      “Do you need any help?”

       Dyl snorted at that, a vaguely amused look on his face, “With Aly back?”

       “I would have kept at least one of them alive for questioning,” Arthur replied haughtily, he followed his brother to a new cadaver.

      Dilwyn shrugged, abandoning the body once he saw that 3/4ths were missing. “Everyone has their own style, Art,” he said, tone light but to Arthur’s ears the undertone was one of pure stress. A flicker of pleasure rose at the realization that he wasn’t the only one disturbed by their house guest.

     “I don’t need a guard dog that goes on a murder spree whenever he damn well pleases,” he retorted, a smug smirk growing on his face.

      “I’m not your guard dog.”

      Dilwyn’s hand on his lower back was the only thing that prevented the newly dubbed Earl from falling again. The previous heir was standing behind him, hands in his pockets and still looking disturbingly blank about the sheer amount of blood he was covered in. “Of course not,” Dilwyn agreed.

     “You’d be a shit one anyway,” Arthur said at the same time.

      A positively feral smirk greeted his statement. There were blood stains on Alistair’s teeth. Arthur swallowed and took a step backwards before he could stop himself. “Aly…” Dilwyn sounded vaguely scolding, even as he moved in between them, “don’t bully the kid.”

      The last part had been murmured softly, probably only intended for Alistair’s ears, but Arthur heard it loud and clear, and it set the that place in his stomach that was constantly boiling alight. “I’m not a child!” he snarled and grabbing Dilwyn’s upper arm- the highest place he could reach-, yanked him backwards, “and I’m certainly not scared of _that_!” The last part was spat directly at the thing masquerading as his oldest brother.

       “Arthur!” Dilwyn hissed, light shining through his skin as he twisted once more and placed himself between the two, his position clearly defensive. In reply the youngest raised his own fists, the flames forming a burning circle around his wrists.

       “Of course, you aren’t,” Alistair said, his head tilted slightly, a dog calculating the risks and gains of attacking, and then a smirk split his face as he continued, tone so unimpressed it could only be mocking, “fools are they that would confuse you for one.”  


	2. Noon

_II. Noon_

“I hate all of you,” the teenager hissed. Earl or not he was not above stomping his feet, and snarling threats when things failed to go his way.

“Okay?”

“That’s nice of you…”

“Hate’s bad for you, no wonder you’re so short.”

“Fuck off!”

“Mind your language, brat,” came the categorical reply.

Arthur let out an angry snarl and turned to storm elegantly off, the heels of his freshly shined boots creating an emphatic clatter. It was to no avail. His brothers fell into place beside him like a pack of well trained dogs. Dogs dressed in trench coats and armed to the fangs. “It is a business meeting, I do not require an armed detail!”

“I beg to differ,” Dilwyn said from his left, “someone drop kicked you in the face just last week.”  He smiled gently in the face of Arthur’s irritated glare, refusing to look the slightest bit cowed.

“I very much doubt this associate will kick me in the face,” he muttered eventually. The lack of reply spoke more to muted amusement than their agreement with his statement, but Arthur was determined to ignore this fact. He adjusted his collar, checked his speed, and stepped out onto main street with his chin held high. All around him the populace split as it rushed to and from, oblivious to all but their own problems. Were he own his own, Arthur would have slid through the crowd as invisible as any common child. However, with his three leeches attached that was not a possibility. His passage was noted with alarmed eyes, stumbling footsteps, and panicked faces. Noblewoman encumbered by their heavy girths and round hoop skirts pulled their children out of his path as if the mere risk of breathing the same air would poison them. Men, lower class and upper alike stiffened their postures and grabbed whatever makeshift weapon they happened to have on hand. Not that that had any chance of helping them. Not with Alistair who carried no less than 3 blades on his body at all times, or Shaemus whose quick wit rivaled only his poison needles in speed. Even Dilwyn, as unassuming or meek as he looked could cause an earthquake with minimal effort. “You are all nuisances,” Arthur commented absentmindedly and crossed the street to approach the restaurant.

It was a massive building built out of an odd mixture of glass and stone, the interior lit by gaudy chandeliers. It was not the style of restaurant that Arthur would have picked but the queen’s orders had been absolute. Something about respecting the establishments that were kind enough to cater to his kind, or some other bull shit.

“Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” To his credit the greeter looked only mildly perturbed by their presence.

“Reservation for Kirkland, table for 2,” Arthur replied, he hesitated before adding, “and a table for three.”

“Right away Sir. Please follow me,” the greeter said, smiled weakly, and walked off towards a grand staircase. Arthur went to follow him, but a rough shove sent him stumbling aside as a dark blur caught up to their guide and engaged him cheerfully. Before Arthur’s very eyes and growing dismay, his brother skillfully charmed his way into  securing a table that was so close to Arthur’s own that they might have been the same one.

“I hate you,” Arthur repeated tonelessly, dropping down into his chair, “I hate you so much.” Shaemus, seated a mere few feet away, reached out quick as a flash and ruffled his hair, withdrawing his hand swiftly before Arthur could stab it. There was a pleased smile on his face, one that wrinkled his cheeks and caused his eyes to gleam. It was a good look on one whose face was so often darkened by some sort of viscous matter. However, it didn’t stop Arthur from wanting to punch it, he settled for signing a few choice words discreetly. Dilwyn snorted into his wine glass when he caught sight but Shaemus only laughed and mimed throttling him.

“Is this seat taken?”

Arthur’s head snapped around, and he looked up. Tanned skin, highlights of gold, a white shirt loosely tucked into a sash, curly hair pulled back into a low ponytail, thick eyelashes, and amber eyes that glittered warmly. Mutely he shook his head, only to belatedly remember that he should stand but by that time his business associate was already sitting.

“Fancy meeting you here Earl Kirkland.” The tone was light, but the voice deep and worn called to mind the rough winds of the sea storms. It did not match the youthful face, but Arthur had learned swiftly that few things added up about one Gabriel Carriedo.

“I could say the same of you Vizcondel Carriedo,” Arthur said, “I suppose that it is a coincidence that brings you here at this hour?” He looked down, rearranging the menu in order to ignore both Gabriel’s amused gaze and the weight of his brothers’ glares on his back.

“Coincidence indeed, as I have completed my duties for the day and was growing hungry there seemed little do to other than stop for a bite to eat,” Gabriel answered easily, he glanced swiftly at the menu before setting it aside with the tiniest furrow to his brow. “I do hope that you will tell me if I am… imposing upon your presence, I would not want to impede any plans you have.” The last part was said with a smile that bordered on a smirk, Arthur found his own rising to his face as if by instinct.

“Truly today is a blessed day then it would appear,” he commented, “for I have also finished my duties. Since we are both here, shall we partake of the same meal?” Someone, he suspected it was Shaemus let out a strangled noise, but he refused to spare them a look, keeping his eyes fixed firmly forwards. Gabriel tilted his head slightly his lips twitching, but he controlled himself and did not laugh outright as he agreed.

What the food lacked in charm and appeal, his dining partner more than made up for. He remained unperturbed by the vicious glares Arthur could feel his brothers giving them and kept the conversation civil. It was almost relaxing, and the young Earl found himself smiling far more than he intended. Whether it be at the sailor’s sense of humor or in the poorly hidden laugh that appeared whenever Arthur said something particularly witty. It was nice to have someone enjoying his company for a reason other than duty for once. Still the hour drew long, and the food dwindled until it was with regret that Arthur saw the check appear. The part of his brain that kept an eye on such matters, reminded him that he had not yet broached the topic that had led to the need for this very meeting.

“Would you care to join me for a walk?”

The words escaped without a thought and Gabriel froze, long fingers still reaching for the tab. For a moment, he looked truly startled but then he blinked and answered, “I would be the one honored, Earl.”

“Excellent,” Arthur said and snatched up the tab. Swiftly he doled out the appropriate change and rose. “Shall we then?” Gabriel’s eyes were bright, mouth hidden behind a wide sleeve, but it was clear that he was laughing again. Arthur felt his face begin to burn, his fingernails were digging into his palms, but he lifted his chin anyway and stared stubbornly.

“Arthur. A word.” The grip on his shoulder left no room for negotiation and he found himself being abruptly hauled away. The hand shifted to his neck before he could free himself and he was shoved into the blind spot  of a hallway. His eldest brother glared down at him, arms raised so as to prevent any escape and a pinched look on his face. “What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing,” he ground out, continuing before Arthur could speak, “That is a  _ human _ you’re flirting with. A human!”

“So?” The earl settled for looking imperious despite the awkwardness of his position, “I’m having lunch with a business associate, it could hardly be considered  _ flirting _ .” The look he received in return spoke of another opinion. “Regardless, I fail to see how this concerns you.”

“It will concern everyone when you get gutted.”

“I’m hardly going to be gutted, that seems to be more your area of exper-gak!”

“You forget yourself, little brother,” Alistair growled, his fingers tightened their grip in Arthur’s collar pulling the boy further off his feet. Arthur struggled, breath catching in his throat and feet kicking out into thin air, a hand grasped at Alistair’s wrist, but it did him little good. He settled for digging his nails into the flesh and pulling up heat, his reward was to be dropped as his brother stepped back out of range.

Arthur coughed, glaring sullenly down at the ground, when his breath had steadied somewhat he straightened up, and fixed his clothing. “As I was saying, this is a business meeting, stop over reacting,” he said forcing his tone to remain calm.

“A business meeting where all you do is sweet talk the enemy?” was the reply.

Arthur glared at him, but his brother’s face had reverted to a blank slate, all emotion having been wiped off. “I’m not and he’s hardly an enemy,” Arthur snapped and stalked back towards his table, where Gabriel stood talking to Dilwyn.

While he had been eating the sun’s rays had only grown stronger until they had chased all but the hardiest souls inside. The heat left he inside of his collar damp with sweat, but Gabriel looked peaceful and Arthur found that he didn’t mind it so much. Their path took them away from the town center and out onto one of the many boardwalks that crisscrossed the lake. It was here where the breeze brought in fresh air and with no one in sight that Arthur put sound to his question, “have you given any thought to the Queen’s proposition?”  

His companion came to a halt at an overlook that bragged of some colorful fish and turned to look at him. “Were I the sole one affected by your queen’s request I would not hesitate to say yes,” he replied, “however, that is not the case and my captain bares no love for your queen.”

“Your captain is not a Vizcondel,” Arthur pointed out, he crossed his arms and forced himself to keep his weight evenly balanced. “Unless…?”

“Though it is true that he is not, he is still my captain, and an agreement with your queen would undoubtedly put us at odds with our own monarchs.”

“Or it could prevent a war.”

“If we are to go to war than there is not much a mere Vizcondel could do, Earl.” Gabriel’s tone had not lost its warmth, nor his face its smile, but there was a warning peering out from his amber eyes. Arthur frowned silently, mulling over what the best response would be, none that he could think up were appealing.

“You could speak to your monarchs…” The thought was only half finished as it left his mouth, and it trailed off when he saw that Gabriel was already shaking his head.

“I cannot.”  

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it again, and released a sigh instead. “Alright, I will let the Queen know.” He shrugged and noted with some surprise that his shoulders felt lighter as if asking the question had relieved him somehow. A few feet away his guest also relaxed, turning to peer down at the placard.

“I’ve heard that they’re quite a few fanciful fish in this area?”

“You’ve heard correctly,” Arthur replied and stepped closer to stand by his side.

  
  



	3. Afternoon Tea

_III. Afternoon Tea_

“Have you started an orphanage?”

Arthur looked up, Shaemus was standing in the doorway, dressed in his mission clothing. The expression on his face suggested that he had drawn some kind of short straw. Arthur looked back down, and carefully tucked a blanket around Alfred’s shoulders. Even in the depths of sleep the boy appeared to glow, his pale skin shining from within.

“Because it sure looks like you have.”

“Keep your voice down,” Arthur replied, reaching out he trailed a finger through the child’s hair, Alfred’s nose scrunched up adorably and he rolled away to curl up with his brother. He rose from his crouch and carefully picked his way through the limp bodies sprawled out across the floor, pausing briefly to tug Liam’s shirt down, before continuing past his brother and out the door. He slid it partially shut behind him, tugging the taller man out of the way when he refused to move.

“You realize right that this is beyond illegal?” Shaemus hissed as he followed him up the staircase and out of the basement.

“No less illegal than Aly mucking about with that frog,” Arthur said, he cast a pointed look over his shoulder only to receive an eye roll in return.

“Aly can handle himself.”

Despite his efforts to keep quiet the Earl felt his hackles rise, “and I can’t, perhaps?!” He snapped.

“Of course you can.” The agreement was prompt, lacking any trace of snark and Arthur felt his eyes narrow suspiciously. “You can,” the black-haired man continued, “but they can’t.” He waved a hand back towards the stairs.

“I can take care of them,” Arthur heard himself say, but even to his own ears his voice sounded less confidant. Shaemus looked at him silently, eyes scanning his face as if looking for an answer that wasn’t being provided. Arthur stiffened his jaw and stared back at him, pulling up his practiced look of condescension. Shaemus huffed something vaguely unpleasant but a knock at the door had his head snapping around. The brothers exchanged a glance, silently communicating that neither of them was expecting guests. Arthur was partially expecting an official from the Queen or a church dog. The figure standing on his porch was a surprise, and he promptly opened his mouth to demand why his brother hadn’t used his key, but a bright voice cut him off.

“Earl Uncle Art! Uncle Shae!” A messy head peeked over Alistair’s shoulder, a large smile showing off a missing front tooth. “I have a new sister!” Lyall exclaimed.

“No.”

Arthur blinked slowly, staring first at the little girl’s excited face than at Alistair’s impassive one, before looking down at the bundle he was carrying in his arms wrapped up in what was clearly a hoodie several sizes too large. “I… I’m not…”

“No,” Shaemus repeated, Arthur felt an arm drop onto his shoulder and the sudden addition of weight as the speaker peered past him. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I’m not running an orphanage,” Arthur agreed automatically, mind reverting back to its previous defense in its shock.

Alistair leveled a dry look on them, readjusted the child so that it-she fit into one arm and shoved his way through using the other one. “Of course not,” his voice drifted back to them, “everyone makes it a habit to pick up every runt they lay eyes on off the street.”

“I! What about you then?! What’s that you’re carrying?”

“My sister!” Lyall chirped.

Arthur glanced at Shaemus for support, but the other man looked torn. “I’m not running an orphanage,” Arthur insisted, “I do not bring back every single child I see.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was arguing so strongly against the idea, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of bringing in another child, especially if doing so made his niece happy but at the same time Shaemus’ comment about their safety was running rampant through the back of his head.

“Keep telling yourself that, Art,” Shaemus said eventually, he was still looking torn no doubt knocked off-kilter by his twin’s actions. “I’m going to see who this new kitten is.” Arthur growled softly, hesitated for a minute, before retreating to his room where a stack of mission reports awaited his perusal.

“Apparently, we’ve adopted a new child?”

Resolutely the earl refused to raise his head, figuring that if he ignored the speaker than he would be left in peace.

“How are you going to run this by the Queen? We’re already low on funds with the addition of the twins.” The voice became louder as the speaker drew closer, until a hand slotted itself neatly between Arthur’s nose and the paper he was trying to read. He glared at it silently, but the pale hand did not so much as twitch, instead the fingers shorter and chubbier than his own curled slightly and stole the paper.

“I was reading that,” Arthur complained half-heartedly, “go bug Aly, he’s the one that brought the new kid in.”

“He’s not the Earl,” Dilwyn answered candidly, and Arthur’s head snapped up so fast that it popped alarmingly. The paper snatcher was leaning against his desk, eyes speedily scanning the report while one of his hands tapped out a restless rhythm on his knee.

“That! That’s hardly fair…” Arthur said in a last attempt to avoid the conversation but a mere glance of from narrowed green eyes had him slumping down in his armchair.

“You’re the Earl,” Dilwyn repeated, the paper landed on the desk with a thump, “the Earl that I chose to support.”

“Planning on changing your mind?” Arthur sniped automatically.

“Don’t be a moron, as if I’d give up on you that easily,” there was a thread of exasperation in Dilwyn’s tone, but it was gone by the time he continued, “Actually, I’m proud of what your doing for the children, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you that children cost money. And for us the only way we can earn money is by running missions.”

“I know that…”

“Do you truly? These children are going to soak up all your time, when were you planning to make the money?”

“Half of them are Alistair’s!”

 “Aly’s contributions make up on average 50% of our budget, Shae brings in 30%, and my clinic provides us with 20% on a good day. That leaves you with the Queen’s fancy errands, money that is immediately spent on whatever provisions the children need.”

“What are you suggesting then?” Arthur demanded, “That I just send them away?”

“No, obviously not,” Dilwyn said, he smiled bitterly, “But you have dogs for this very reason, Earl, why don’t you put them to use?”

“As I said when I became Earl, you’re not dogs to me,” Arthur said, he rubbed at his forehead, “the higher the reward the  harder the mission, I don’t want you getting injured on my account.”

“And that’s why I picked you to be our Earl, little brother,” Dilwyn murmured gently, he reached out and ran a hand through the blond locks. “That’s also why all three of us are willing to run as many missions as needed until we stabilize. So don’t be naïve, and give us our orders.”

Hissing slightly, Arthur knocked the hand aside and stood up, he could feel his face burning but the medic was smiling at him as if he’d done something impressive. Arthur stalked past him, drawing courage from the sound of Dilwyn’s footsteps falling into place behind him, and made his way downstairs. The children were as he had left him, snoozing in the living room, under the watchful eye of the family dog. He found his eldest brothers seated in the kitchen, each with their own bottle of liquor. Two pairs of eyes snapped to him when he walked in. The Earl allowed himself one breath before he said, “I have an announcement.”


	4. Dawn

             _IV. Dawn_

               Breakfast in the Tower was typically a loud affair. Someone was always yelling, someone else was planting their dirty boots on the table, and of course there would be dogs under foot as food flew everywhere. Arthur Kirkland would be lying if he said that he liked the chaos, however he would also be lying if he said that he hated it. It was the only period during the day where his entire family was willing in one place at the same time, outside of obligatory meetings of course. From the shelter of the Kitchen door he watched and counted heads, steadily running down a mental checklist. The triplets were laughing, heads bent close together as they schemed. Liam was juggling knives, he’d have to put a stop to that soon. Mathew perched on a windowsill was talking quietly with Ional. Alfred was sneaking extra servings of bacon only to jolt when a fork planted itself by his hand and quivered angrily. Despite their buoyant clamors and general good mood, the absence of his elder brothers stuck out to him like a sore thumb. He stepped out of the shadows, nodding when Ional’s gaze snapped to him as if attracted by a magnet. The child nodded back solemnly. The stairs were devoid of life, but a voice reached his ears as he rounded the second landing.

                “Yeah…Can’t….Thanks…Sis.”

                Irritation flooded his veins and Arthur sped up, stomping down the hall towards the voice.

                “Yeah, got it… Oh shit.”

                The voice cut off abruptly, and Arthur had no doubt that he had been made. It didn’t stop him from knocking sharply on the door.

                “It’s open,” Dilwyn answered.

                Arthur eased the door open, despite his brewing temper he was wary of accidently hitting any of the animals that often slept in his brother’s chambers and stuck his head inside. “Breakfast has been served,” he said coldly.

                “That so? We’ll be down in a jiffy,” Dilwyn answered. His tone was light, cheerful enough, it set off warning bells in Arthur’s mind. He stepped all the way inside and his irritation took a nose dive into consternation. His brother was standing in the middle of a pentagram, skin glowing slightly, and emitting a familiar scent of wet mud. His arms were stretched out in front of him, fingers barely touching as a ball of brown energy formed.

                “What happened?” Arthur growled, without being told he closed the door and stalked up to the edge of the pentagram. His brother didn’t spare him a glance, silently mouthing a formula to himself. Arthur scanned the room, noting the surprising lack of animals before his gaze landed on his eldest brother. Alistair was seated on the leather settee, or more accurately sprawled, a long leg was dangling over the back of the furniture and the other on the arm rest. With his head resting on a mass of pillows, arms casually folded, and a sneer on his face he looked perfectly at ease. However, the unusual pallor of his skin, and the basin of water set on the nearby table told a different tale. Arthur approached, and two sets of green eyes followed him, one slightly glazed over. “What happened?” The youngest asked again, stepping around various objects until he could crouch by the settee. Green eyes, shadowed by dark red hair flicked to him, not quite looking him in the eye. There was a bruise forming around the left one almost blotting out the old scar that lay just underneath.

                “Walked into an ambush,” his brother’s voice was hoarse, as broken up as the sound the crashing of waves against rocks made. The mere fact that he was answering the question without a quip told Arthur more than he liked. Still he waited as a tremor worked its way through his brother’s body. “Might have made a bit of a mess.” He shifted, an arm uncrossing to wave carelessly about, there were blood stains on his hand.

                “And the mission?”

              The eyes fixated back on him and Alastair scoffed, “already dropped into the Queen’s hand.” Arthur frowned, to have reached and returned from the Queen’s before breakfast, his brother had to have finished hours earlier. He looked to Dilwyn, who had left his pentagram and was running hands carefully over a bent leg. The brown light swirled in around his fingers, interconnected figure eights until they abruptly plunged into the leg, healing some hidden defect. “Aer came and fetched me, the moron passed out on the floor,” the earthen explained.

            “Fuck off, Dyl,” was the reply.

            Arthur absentmindedly picked up a pillow and slammed it into his brother’s face. “Do continue Dyl,” he ordered, nimbly the dodging the retaliatory fist.

           “Stop moving,” the medic rumbled, “I’ve got several gashes, a fractured ankle, and,” he looked up, a faint tightness to his jaw that had Arthur tensing. “And iron residue.” Arthur found himself on his feet before the thought had left his brain, with swift fingers he tore at the ties that held his brother’s armor together and shoved them out of the way.

           “You’re overreacting,” Alistair grumbled, “it was temporary, very temporary.” He hadn’t bothered to remove the pillow from his face, but his voice came through clear enough. Arthur ignored it all the same, eyes focused on a crescent shaped gash that had been hidden by the undershirt. It wasn’t the only mark.

           “And several broken ribs, no doubt,” Dilwyn added drily, without preamble he pushed Arthur out of the way and continued his ministrations. Talented fingers stitching closed the parted skin and wrapping misaligned bones. Arthur settled for glaring at both their heads, until Dilwyn stepped away the magic fading out as if it had never been. “The doctor recommends bed rest,” he said mildly, washing his hands in the basin. The water surged up to splash him in the face, droplets splattering across the floor.

        “I’ll take that under consideration,” Alistair replied, the pillow fell off as he sat up and swung his legs around. “I’ll even add it to my list.” The smirk on his face spoke otherwise, he stood up and crossed the room to collect a long-sleeved shirt. he moved as if he hadn’t been drained less than a minute ago.

       “Aly,” Dilwyn started, a look torn between exasperated fondness, and concern growing on his face. “Just because I mended the bones doesn’t mean you’ve recovered.”

        “So, you say, every time,” was the prompt reply. “Breakfast is getting cold, move it, slugs.” He disappeared out the door.

          “It would be counter productive to stab him, wouldn’t it?” Arthur asked aloud, it drew a strained smile from Dilwyn before he shook his head.

           “Very, for one he’d stab you back and two it would surely attract unwarranted attention.”

           “Do we need to send a clean-up crew?” Normally, Arthur wouldn’t bother voicing his question, his elder brother was notoriously good about covering his tracks, but he didn’t usually return injured either. Few had the courage to ambush him, fewer still committed the act, and none had survived to tell the tale.

            “No,” Dilwyn said, “he didn’t miss any.” With a soft clank he set the rest of his medical aside and walked over, any concerns he might have had disappearing behind a warm smile. “What was that I heard about breakfast?”

             Arthur rolled his eyes, but led the way downstairs, “all the same, look into it.”

            “Yes, Sir.”


End file.
